


Dragon from the Hull

by Taeryntheedragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeryntheedragon/pseuds/Taeryntheedragon
Summary: Nettles the dragon seed had been living with the Targaryens on Dragonstone for about a month, but Lord Protector of the Realm, Daemon Targaryen had not paid much attention to her, until he found reasons to suspect that the girl could be his bastard daughter.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Dragon from the Hull

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! this is my first time writing something so bear with me please. I hope y’all like it ❤️ 
> 
> This takes place about a month or so after Lucerys and Rhaenys died and weeks before all the real tragedies of Dance start to happen. Though in fire & blood, all of Rhaenyras kids besides Jacaerys had been sent away before the dragonseeds joined the Blacks and Prince Daemon was at Harrenhal, I’ve tweaked the time line to where all of kids and Daemon are still on Dragonstone and this is shortly before they all part ways

𝐃 𝐀 𝐄 𝐌 𝐎 𝐍 | 𝟏 𝟐 𝟗 𝐀 𝐂

* * *

The notion crossed Daemon’s mind the day before last.

It had been nagging at him since then, eating away at his conscious.

He had been in the entertainment chamber, sitting in one of the many plush chairs that adorned the room, attentively cleaning Dark Sister. On the opposite side of the chamber, near the fire place, Jacaerys had been teaching the girl how to correctly lace up her boots. It was obvious his step son and the dragonseed were becoming very fond of each other. After all, it was Jace’s idea to summon the bastards to Dragonstone. She had him to thank for the warm, seasoned food that filled her belly every night, the consistency of a roof over her head, the well made clothes that she was wearing in exchange for the tattered and dirty rags she had showed up in. And of course the boots.

He heard the scrawny girl growl in frustration after, he assumed, another failed attempt in trying to master the knot Jace had shown her. “It’s okay. Here, I’ll show you again. Watch closely.”

He would have missed it, if he had not casually glanced up from his blade. Jacaerys placed his foot on the stool that sat between the two, and begin tying the lace of his boot once more. Nettles was bouncing her leg, visibly irritated at her failure. It was then Daemon noticed the girl doing a strange movement with her left hand, flicking her thumb against her forefinger. It was a tick, he knew. A tick he himself did when he was agitated or nervous. Mostly agitated, as Daemon was rarely nervous these days and increasingly annoyed. Thinking nothing of it at the time, he cast his purple gaze back to the black steel of his sword.

... 

  
Later that night while at the Black Council meeting in The Chamber of The Painted Table, Daemon had found himself thinking about the girl after he unconsciously did the same flick with his fingers.

 _It is purely coincidence_ , he told himself.

The habit was a common thing, much like nail bitting or lip chewing. Though admittedly, his was a tic that he had never witnessed any one else do in the longevity of his life. And surely a habit could not be inherited. No, this was the only similarity he shared with the dragonseed. Nothing else.

Daemon was certain he had a few bastards across the realm, hell, across the world. How could a man with his amount of lustfulness not? But to think that the Nettles came from his own loins...

“...Daemon?” The deep voice of The Sea Snake snapped The Prince out of his thoughts. He grunted, turning his attention back to the discussion taking place.

...

The thought returned, as had a memory, whilst he was laying down in bed, Rhaenyra tangled around him, sleeping. He was on the verge of sleep when the memory suddenly resurfaced. Alysanne’s lined face and piercing blue eyes appeared in his minds eye. “That’s odd,” she said, eyeing his hand. “Your grandfather does the same thing.” He had been flicking his thumb. She chuckled, her sweet laughter filling the air. “What do you know, you must have got it from him.”

...

Now, here Prince Daemon was, leaning on the balcony that adorned the Sea Dragon tower, staring out at the black sea that surrounded Dragonstone, watching the thick morning mist roll off the water and around the shore. And thinking.

The memory of his grandmother had unsettled him, had confirmed something he didn’t want to be confirmed. He could just pretend it’s not a possibility, or he could pursue and find the truth of the matter.  
_  
A ride on Caraxes will help clear my mind_.

On his way down to the yard, Daemon resolved that he would need to talk to Nettles, learn more about her life before she came to them, specifically when she was born and who her mother was. Though she had been living with them for near a month, Daemon didn’t know much about the girl beyond the basics. She came to them from the isle of Driftmark, though he could not recall from which village. She was a year or so older than Jacaerys, and, according to Maester Gerardys, had a temper. “Foul-mouth and fearless, that girl,” were his exact words.

Rhaena had told Daemon once that she had tried to lend the girl a dress but Nettles refused to wear one. “She’s just like Baela. She likes wearing boy clothes and fighting with sticks more than playing dolls” his daughter sighed. “But at least she’s nicer.”

No doubt, Rhaena had been hoping to find a new sister in Nettles but only found an older version of her twin. Baela on the other hand found her perfect match. Not to say her and Rhaena were not close; they were damn near inseparable. But while Rhaena took much after her mother, the late Lady Laena, Baela was nothing if not her father’s daughter and therefore, the more wilder maiden. So sometimes, instead of dancing and braiding her sister’s hair, she liked to wrestle with the squires in the courtyard, race with Jace either on horseback or dragonback, and get into all kinds of mischief with Joffrey, poor boy.

Now, she had a _girl_ to do those things with.

_Someone just as wild and willful as her._

As Daemon reached the steps that led down to what they called the dragon yard, Jacaerys raced by him, quickly biding Daemon a “good morning” before he rushed down the steps.

“Morn- careful boy!” Daemon shouted. “These steps are slippery.”

The last thing he needed was Jace to bust his head open. These were perilous times, and another tragedy could be enough to break them. Rhaenyra, already shrouded in grief after the death of Lucerys, could not lose another son. _He_ could not lose another son.

Jacaerys slowed his pace obediently but was still noticeably in a hurry, and disappeared around the corner as soon as he reached the ground.

 _And where is he heading off too in such a rush?_ Daemon concluded the boy just wanted to be with his dragon as much as he did. Until he heard more footsteps behind him.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

He turned to look over his shoulder. “Copper,” he nodded.

Copper was one of the older dragon keepers on Dragonstone, and also the smith who made the Targaryens their very fine dragon saddles.

A new made saddle was sitting on the mans shoulder.

As the two men reached the bottom of the steps, Daemon asked “Has Vermax grown out his saddle already?”

“No, Your Grace. This one is for the bastard girl and the Sheepstealer.”

_Ah, I see._

“I think I might accompany you,” Daemon said, deciding Caraxes would have to wait.

“By all means, Your Grace,” he said as they followed in the direction Jacaerys went. I never would have thought I’d see t’day when that scraggly thing would let someone ride it,” Copper chuckled.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Desperate times indeed, because that prince o’ yours has been naggin’ me everyday t’finish this thing.”

Finally, they spotted the prince talking with Nettles, as he expected. When Jace spotted them he pointed the girl to their direction.

“See, I told you it would be ready today,” Jace told her excitedly. “Come on I’ll help you put it on him.”

He was about to take the saddle from Copper when Daemon recognized an opportunity.

“Not so fast,” Daemon raised a hand.

“Didn’t you tell Joffrey you would train with him this morning?”

Jacaerys’s grin faded. “Yes,” he mumbled. “But-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll help with the saddle.”

Jace, realizing he was defeated, thanked Copper, said goodbye to Nettles and stalked off back towards the great black Citadel.

_The boy will be angry at me later, but I must needs do this._

He took the saddle from Copper and hefted it onto his shoulder. “Your Service is no longer required Copper, I can take it from here.”

Copper, visibly relieved from having the weight of the saddle removed, said “As ya wish, Your Grace,” then dismissed himself.

Daemon turned to Nettles.

“So, where is your beast?” He asked, noticing the ugly thing was no where in sight.

“He was here earlier but he flew away. I think I know where he’s at.”

“Let us go find him then.”

She cast him a weary look, then turned on her heels. He followed her lead.

They walked out of the yard and up the steps etched in the side of a hill that led to higher ground.

“You might have bonded with him, but he is still wild, girl,” Daemon told her.

Nettles said nothing.

Sheepstealer had lived on the island for many a decade, born during the time of King Jaehaerys’s reign. He was, like the other wild dragons, most likely hatched in the dragon nursery of the Citadel, but escaped while young, unclaimed by anyone, until now. Daemon suspected that a dragon who’d been wild for most of its life would not enjoy the idea of being around so many other dragons, much less a place teaming with people. Therefore getting him to stay in the dragon yard would prove to be a challenge unless he was chained.

As they climbed up the hill, Daemon took the time to observe the girl. Her hair, which was a course tangle of black curls, blew wildly across her face everytime a gust of wind flew by. She wore a plain white linen shirt that made her cinnamon colored skin glow every time the sun peeped out from behind the grey clouds. The laces of her brown leather boots, Daemon noted, were tied up, the way Jace had shown her.

She was not too bad to look upon, though she had a nasty scar across her nose—which Daemon ventured she received as punishment for stealing—and he knew she had crooked teeth. 

_Could she really be my seed?_ Daemon wondered.

He saw none of him in here, not one thing that would have him believe she was Targaryen. Though he knew that meant nothing. After all Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey all looked like their real father, Harwin Strong, not a trace of Old Valyria in their features. Nettles was no different. 

When they reached the upper ground, Daemon broke the silence.

“You were born on Driftmark, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _your Grace_ ,” Daemon corrected her.

“Yes, your Grace,” Nettles said.

As they continued walking, it became obvious where Nettles thought Sheepstealer was. This was the grounds where the sheep herds grazed.

“Hmm. And how old are you?” He knew the answer but he wanted the confirmation.

“Six and ten, m’lord.”

“Your Grace,” he growled.

He did the numbers in his head and concluded she must have been born around 113 AC. A very troubled year for him.

“What of your mother, did you know her? What did she look like?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” she eyed him, then added “Your Grace.”

_Bold, this one._

“And when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer, truthfully, girl.”

She looked down at her feet as they walked. She was flicking her thumb. _Nervousness or agitation_ , Daemon wondered.

“My mama died when I was real young. I don’t remember much of her, much less what she looked like, maybe ‘cept she looked like me.”

 _Could she have been Dornish_? _No, too light._ Maybe Dothraki, but he only had slept with one, too many years ago to even be of importance. A Summer Islander, then. Daemon did love Summer Islander women, though he’d couldn’t recall meeting one in Westeros outside of King’s Landing. 

“She was a whore though,” Nettles continued, “worked in a house near the dock called the Hull’s Delight.“

 _She could be Corlys’s, like Addam and Alyn,_ he mused. Though Corlys loved his wife, Daemon’s cousin the late Rhaenys Targaryen, he was not innocent of adultery, though he pretended he was. He already had an affair with a certain woman from the Hull, who was to say he didn’t visit the village whore house from time to time?

“Suppose I was born there, but after she died when I was ‘bout three, they kicked me out. But some of her friends from the house took care o’ me.”

Daemon felt some sympathy for the girl.

“What about your father? Know anything about him?” “I never knew who my father was. She mighta’ told me but I never remembered. Never cared really. He was probably just another one of her clients.”

In thought, Daemon stroked his silver beard with his free hand, then said, “I see. But there’s something you must not be telling me. You had to have had some inkling that you were a bastard with Targaryen blood. Else you wouldn’t have came here to claim a dragon.”

She was about to answer his question, but then, looking around, she said “Stealer’s close, m’lord.”

“Your. Grace,” he said throught gritted teeth.

“Have some manners on you girl. Jacaerys and my daughters might let you talk to them however you want, but I am not them .”

“I apologize, Your Grace. I just don’ understand the different between the two.”

“You can say my lord to any fool that looks like he’s of higher birth than you but when you are speaking to the blood of the dragon, you will refer to them as ‘Your Grace.’ Understood?”

She stopped walking. “Yes, _Your Grace_. But I have a dragon, am I not also blood of the dragon? Yet you still call me girl.”

Daemon was taken aback at the nerve she had.

“You have only drops of dragon blood, girl,” he said pointedly. Though he knew she was right.

She met his eyes mischievously. “So does Jace and Joff. They’re bastards too, like me. What’s the look for, Your Grace?”

The look was Daemon remembering the time he cut Vaemond Velaryon’s head off for speaking those same words.

“I might be of low birth but I’m not stupid. Jace looks nothing like the Queen, or you, or Rhaena and Baela, or your own sons Aegon and Viserys. I seen Lord Laenor a few times on Driftmark, Your Grace. Jace doesn’t look like him either. And I never knew Lucerys, but I’m guessin’ he had the same brown hair and eyes as his brothers, and his father, _Your Grace_.”

There was fire in that dark gaze of hers.

Daemon narrowed his eyes. No one in his life, besides those of his blood, had ever talked to him like that.

A screech erupted in the air, and a brown figure appeared in the sky.

“I mean no rudeness, Your Grace. But you have a dragon,” Sheepstealer descended and landed next to his rider. She reached out her hand and scratched him under his horned jaw, “and I have a dragon. What makes us not equal?”

Daemon couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from his lips.

“Fair enough, girl-” he hesitated, “Nettles.”

She smiled faintly.

...

Daemon couldn’t be of much physical help when it came to putting the device on the beast, since that thing snapped and growled at him whenever he got near, making it apparent that he was only benign to his rider. Out of worry that Caraxes would sense the potential danger, Daemon decided it was best to step back.

_The beast might be wild aye but Caraxes would rip him to shreds all the same. The last thing we need is another dead dragon._

Nettles had to put the saddle on herself, while Daemon instructed her on what to tighten and what to buckle. Naturally, Sheepstealer did protested but she handled the wyrm well.

“Good. Now, take him for a flight. A saddle is much more comfortable to fly in than sitting bare back, trust my words.”

The girl gently but forcefully pulled on one of Sheepstealers long horns to make him lower his shoulder so she could climb atop him and into the saddle. Daemon thought it was strange but not unheard of. All he had to do was say a command in Valyrian for the Blood Wyrm to lower himself, but in this case neither girl nor dragon knew Valyrian.

“He might try to buck so make sure the chains are tight,” Daemon cautioned.

On dragon back, Nettles looked more confident, and more fierce. The similarities between the dragonseed and Sheepstealer were...striking. Like his rider, Sheepstealer had scars. A long one ran across the mud brown wyrm’s face, from eye to jaw. Daemon also observed some long healed scars on his right leg too. _Must be from fights with the Cannibal, Daemon thought._

Nettles locked her knees around Sheepstealers neck, then urged him up in the sky. With a great spread of his tattered tan and hickory wings, girl and dragon ascended into the air.   
...

Half way back to the Citadel, Daemon continued their conversation from earlier.

“I never got the answer regarding how you knew you were a dragonseed,” he said, not unkindly.

“Well...I didn’t know for sure, Your Grace. Like i said, some o’ my mama’s friends from the house had looked after me.

“One o’ them, Miss Fregress, told me my Ma would always go on an’ on about a ‘dragon’ she laid with. Said’s she would tell everyone in the house she had a princes babe.”

_A princes’s babe._

The girl continued, “Well Miss Fregress always told me my mama was probably lyin.’ ‘I hate to tell you Netty but you probably ain’ nothin’ more than a regular ole fools bastard,’ she always said.”

“But you answered my son’s summoning all the same?”

“ I thought maybe my mama _was_ only lying, mayhaps i really was just some fisherman’s bastard, but I figured it was worth a shot. What did I have to lose anyways? It was either try to take a dragon and die by flames, or die in the streets. I’d rather be dragon food than rat food.”

“Careful of what you speak, dragons like to eat the dead after battle.” He said it lightly, like a jape, but Nettles only grew serious.

“Leaving them to rot for the crows is worse,” she said somberly.

The cries of sheep could be heard in the distance behind them.

When Nettles had taken Sheepstealer into the air, Daemon—thinking the girl would just fly the dragon to the castle—began walking back home. He was surprised when they landed next to him. He asked as Nettles slid off of the brown dragon why she didn’t just fly back. She told him her beast was still hungry and she didn’t want to wait for him while he hunted for the sheep heard. Daemon thought to himself that she could have just took a goat from the dragonstock back at the Citadel, but decided not to speak on it.

“She didn’t lie.”

Nettles looked at him with a confused expression. “What?”

“Your mother. It would seem she wasn’t lying after all and Miss Fregress can go fuck herself.”

That made the girl laugh, which actually was a sweet sound. He thought she would have an ugly laugh for some reason.

When they finally reached the dragonyard, Caraxes was there to greet them.

As Daemon walked up to his dragon, the laughter of children could be heard in the distance. Nettles stood there awkwardly as he stroked Caraxes’s red muzzle. She was looking longingly in the direction of the laughter. Noticing this, Daemon assured her she could go. The girl began walking away then stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Thank you for your help today, Your Grace.” Daemon nodded in reply, and off she went.

Daemon climbed atop Caraxes and urged the great wyrm into the sky. He had learned a lot this morning, now it was time to mull the information over.

* * *

𝟏𝟏𝟑 𝐀𝐂

* * *

Daemon had been exiled by his brother, King Viserys, after rumors spread around like wildfire that Daemon had taken Rhaenyra’s maidenhead just before her sixteenth name day.

Viserys had never been so cross with Daemon in all their years. Daemon had tried to tell him the rumors were not true, and for once, they weren’t. After all, the rumored incident had taken place a year hence; why now was it coming to the light?

He had questioned this much to his brother, when Viserys had summoned him to the Throne room. He even went so far as to accuse Queen Alicent Hightower, Viserys’s cunt of a wife, of inserting the lie to try and break him and his brother apart after they had just reunited.

That only made Viserys more angry.

“You despoil my heir, my daughter and then you sit here and lie about it to my face? And now you accuse my good wife of spreading false tales about you?”

“You’d believe the Hightower-“ he had to refrained from calling Viserys’s lovely wife a bitch, “that Hightower woman over me? Your own brother?”

“How could I not, Daemon?” The King yelled, his thunderous voice filled with contempt. “How could I put it below you, dear brother. when the whole damn realm knows you like deflowering any fair maiden you lay your eyes on. Do not play the fool with me brother, you’ve been doting on Rhaenyra since the day she became a woman. Do you not recall the day you asked me for her hand in marriage? You have a perversion when it comes to directly defying me.”

Daemon said nothing.

The King leaned back on the throne and rested a hand on his temple. “One reason Daemon. Just give me one reason why I should put my faith in you.”

Daemon scowled. “You wound me brother. No, I never claimed Rhaenyra’s maidenhead, even though I could have. That honor was bestowed to another man.”

He went to far.

Viserys rose from the throne, red as dornish wine. “Leave,” he boomed, pointing a finger to the grand double doors of the throne room.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Daemon said, performing a mocking bow, before he spun on his heels to walk away.

“Leave Kings Landing,” the King said to his back, “leave Westeros, and don’t return.”

Daemon, stopped walking. Only for a moment.

He didn’t look back to face his brother. He only stared ahead seething in anger, then continued walking, away from his family again.   
...

For the rest of that year and part of the next, Daemon spent his exile at Stepstones, returning to the kingdom he was not yet done building. Once more, he was the King of the Stepstones and Narrow Sea. Only this time, he didn’t bear crown, as the black and gold one he had once doned was still in Kings Landing. Nor did he feel like a King. Daemon, as he had years before, sought the help of his good friend, The Sea Snake Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and of the Tides. Not frequently but sometimes, Daemon would fly Caraxes to Driftmark, believing it more efficient to speak with Corlys in person about their business than via raven. And maybe because he was lonely.

It was one of those times.

Dusk had fallen around the island of Driftmark. Being it Prince Daemon had spent the majority of the day hulled up in High Tides making plans with The Sea Snake, he decided that he needed to release some pent up energy. So, naturally he grabbed a destier from the stables, and made his way to one of the whorehouses on the isle. He could’ve just ridden Caraxes but the Blood Wyrm had disappeared, likely flying around with Meleys and Vhagar; trying to recreate the days when they flew side by side in the days where Daemon’s uncle Aemon and his mother and father, Alyssa and Baelon, had been their riders.

There were two pleasure houses on Driftmark: Silk Walls and The Hull’s Delights.

Silk Walls was located in Spicetown, one of the more lavish of the three port villages of Driftmark. Silk Walls was equally as opulent, and a fairly new establishment, springing up after Spicetown began attracting more trade, particularly from the Free Cities which brought in all types of luxury.

As for The Hull’s Delights—located on the dockside of the Hull, a town that sits just beneath the dark walls of the Driftmark Castle—-it was an older and more modest pleasure house, these days less visited due to the Silk Walls attracting all the customers. Daemon preferred Silk Walls over Hull’s, simply cause Silk Walls was more...spicier.

He had been passing through a small village, that could only have sprung up recently since he had never seen it before, when he overhead an interesting conversation.

Three men were standing outside what Daemon assumed was a sorry excuse for a tavern, drinking ale and speaking loudly. If the three men had noticed the red three headed dragon that adorned the Prince’s black coat, maybe things would have gone different.

The loudest of them all, a fairly tall man with a bald head and black beard, wiped some froth from his mustache, and said to his friends “I hear the King plans to make that daughter o’ his the Queen.” His friend, shorter and uglier twisted his face.

“Like hell he is. Why do such a thing like that when he’s got that son...er...“ “Prince Aegon,” the third man chimed in. “Aegon! That’s his name. I’m sure he’s a worthy lad. He’s got that golden dragon and has t’a name of t’a conqueror.”

 _Strike one_ , Daemon thought as he pulled in his horse’s reigns.

The bald man shook his head, “no no, he’s dead set on makin’ the princess his heir. Either the royal piggy’s wits have dulled or the princess has him under a spell.”

 _Strike two_ , though Daemon chortled a little at “royal piggy.”

The short man snorted. “Aye look on’a bright side. I’ve heard the wench has been spread’n her legs for the whole Kingsguard for years right under daddy’s nose. Might be she’ll let all her subjects swear their fealty to her by givin the whore a good fuck! Ha!” All three men burst out in laughter.

 _Strike three_.

Daemon dismounted, tied the black destier to a post then drew Dark Sister from his scabbard and cleared his throat.

The three men looked in his direction, only now noticing his presence. The bald man put his hand on the hilt of the sword that hung on his side.

“Put that steel away before you-“ The third man, with an expression of pure terror, punched the bald man on the shoulder and stammered, “shut up you bloody fool it’s the kings brother the prince!”

Daemon pointed a gloved hand at the bald man, who looked as if he had shit himself.

“You speak ill words towards the king and now you dare draw your sword against a prince?”

The bald man lifted his hands and started to stammering, “NO, NO my lord- your grace-“

“And you,” Daemon turned his gaze to the short one, “call her grace my niece a bloody whore, unworthy to sit the throne in favor of Aegon?” The ugly man sat there goggling at him, moving his lips but no words came out. Daemon paced in front of them and clucked his tongue.

“Gentlemen, you’ve spoken treason. But I am nothing but fair. Draw your swords and see if the gods deem you innocent.”

It would had been slaughter if the third man that ran off during the duel had not gotten the help of the villagers. Firm hands pulled Daemon away from the one who had called Rhaenyra a whore before he could take the mans head off. Of course he had to beat the shit out of the owner of those firm hands for the interference.

The ugly man was still lying in the mud, struggling to get up. Daemon put his boot on the mans chest and rested the blood stained point of Darksister on his throat. “Visit King’s Landing when it comes time for Rhaenyra’s coronation. Beg her forgiveness for the words you have spoken today, or else the only thing you’ll be fucking is my sword with your throat.”

Silk Walls was still a long way, and night had already fallen by the time Daemon trotted away from the village.

Wetting Dark Sister only made him more impatient to wet his other sword, so Daemon decided to turn back towards Driftmark and go to the closer whorehouse, Hull’s Delights at the docks.

...

He walked in the place with blood on his gloves and dripping down his coat. Though he had never graced the establishment with his presence, the owner recognized him all the same and offered him their best suite, and promised to send him their best worker. Daemon also demanded wine be sent to his room.

Kwara, was her name.

He could barely keep his eyes open by the time she slid of his cock. If this day hadn’t worn Daemon out already, she finished the deed. Apart from her smooth dark skin, which glowed warmly in the candle light, Kwara couldn’t be described as beautiful, well, in the face at least. She had a beautiful body, he couldn’t deny. She was a Summer Islander he knew but her common tongue was marked with a Lyseni accent suggesting she had been born or raised there.

At first, Daemon had planned to return to High Tides after he’d had his fun, but now he was too exhausted and drunk besides.

Perhaps that’s why after he had spent himself, he had asked Kwara to stay with him for awhile. She was warm, she smelled like cinnamon. And her voice. It was relaxing. That’s why when she asked if he had been wounded, due to the blood that soaked through his clothes which lay piled on the floor, he told her about three men in the village. It was funny, he told her, how he had almost killed two men who had slighted his brother’s honor, the same brother who he was mad at. Granted, he was mostly angry at the comments made about his good niece, and he really only fought the men cause it had been awhile since he got to pommel someone, but a part of him liked to think he did it for Viserys too. He told her about a lot of other things too, things he wouldn’t remember, come the morning. Daemon was on the verge of sleep when Kwara said in a soft voice, “Will you remember me, my prince?”

He probably gargled a yes. He did not remember though. No doubt, the night was special for Kwara. She got the honor to please Prince Daemon, the Rouge Prince, the blood of the dragon, an exceptional upgrade from the petty lords and pirates she was no doubt used to fucking. But for Daemon, the night was like any other, and she was just another whore. He would not remember Kwara, the plain faced woman with the sweet voice who smelled of cinnamon. Until fate would force him to remember.

* * *

_Kwara._

Again, Daemon found himself at the tower, watching the sea. His flight had opened his mind as he hoped it would. Nettles was his, he had no room left for doubt anymore. The tick, the time of her birth, appearance, the fearlessness and fire that he had witnessed in her earlier; it all made sense. But what was he supposed to do with that answer? He did not think he could ignore the prospect as he had planned to do before, now that he had the truth of it. 

He remembered what it felt like to hold Baela and Rhaena for the first time. When Daemon looked at the two pink babes squalling in his arms, he knew automatically that he would protect them, always. Nobody would ever hurt a hair on their heads so long as he lived. But also, in his first few moments of fatherhood, he wondered if he had any bastards out in the world and how many of them would never know what it was like to have someone there to keep them safe?

Now he had found one of those seeds and the answer was what he felt guilty for all those years ago.

Nettles never knew what it was like to have a home, a real home. Not a whore house or somewhere that was just a roof over her head. She would never get the childhood Daemon and his children had, running carelessly through the grand halls of the Red Keep, playing Lord of the Castle in Aegon’s Garden, being read to sleep in a big warm bed with the sound of the the Blackwater waves crashing outside in the background.

She never had a mother or father to hold her as she cried, hug and comfort her when she was scared, or tell her things would be okay. Instead of being swaddled in the finest clothes since birth, she only wore tattered rags. Instead of the promise of favorable meals every night, she only had the choice of rats doused in fleas or cod from the sea. How many nights had she gone to sleep with her belly empty? How many times did she have to steal in order to satisfy her needs?

_She wouldn’t even have that scar on her nose if only I had remembered._

It was no good to dwell on the past. He could still do right by Nettles. Though he decided he would not tell anyone that he was her father, not even his Queen and wife Rhaenyra, at least for now. He had the feeling she would not react well to the news and he could not blame her for it. No, it was best to keep this secret to himself, he decided. He would tell Nettles one day, mayhaps.

For now though, he would only watch over her.

On his way to the Stone Drum Tower, Daemon walked across a gallery that overlooked the main court yard, where the children and Nettles happened to playing at. He stopped to watch as Aegon and Nettles danced around each other with wooden swords. Baela and Rhaena shouted encouragements to the girl and laughed every time she tapped Aegon on his hind with the stick, not ungently. Joffrey cheered on his little brother and Jace, with little Viserys on his shoulders, watched the dance amusedly.

 _My own blood or not_ Daemon smiled, _she’s found her family here._


End file.
